


Domestic Tranquility

by a_shepherd



Series: The Vorkosigans At Home [1]
Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Father Figures, Gen, Multi-Tasking In Five Dimensions, Parenthood, The Regency of Aral Vorkosigan, family life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-01
Updated: 2013-05-01
Packaged: 2017-12-10 03:12:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/781118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_shepherd/pseuds/a_shepherd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Domestic tranquility as such had never been on her personal radar during her survey career. But here it was, in what in her previous existence she would have thought the most unlikely of all places, with the most unlikely of all men.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Domestic Tranquility

**Author's Note:**

> A slice-of-life, early morning vignette with the Vorkosigans at home.

      Cordelia had recently decided mornings were her favorite part of the day here at the Residence, especially whenever Aral was able to join them for breakfast, an all too infrequent occurrence the past few months, when he’d been up and out at the crack of dawn more times than she thought was good for him, what with all the late nights he’d been putting in, too. She’d have to see what, if anything, she could do to remedy that. She loved having her three boys all together in this informal, relaxed setting. The cosy, casual breakfast nook, light years away from the massive, elegant formality of the dining room, had a lovely view of one of Ezar's small, private gardens. This morning was bright and sunny, with only a few piles of snow left in shady spots, looking to be a nice day so far, if a bit sloppy from snowmelt.

      She turned her gaze to the table, where the Lord Regent of Barrayar, ready for work and resplendent in his dress greens, was absentmindedly finishing off a steaming bowl of groats generously laced with maple syrup, while scanning a handheld comconsole intently and directing every third or fourth spoonful towards Miles. Miles, seated in his special, padded protective chair next to him, was doing his best open-mouthed, baby bird impersonation. Six year old Gregor, who had left a few minutes earlier to collect his school things, returned, skipping back into the room. He halted at attention in front of Aral, presenting himself for inspection with proper Vorish decorum and heel-clicking correctness.

      Miles burbled, “Geggie!” with a cheerful, two-toothed, very drooly grin. Gregor smiled broadly at him, revealing a gap in his own front teeth, and prudently stepped quickly out of reach of those rapidly darting, very sticky hands, resuming his military stance.

      Aral rose, fastened the top buttons of his uniform jacket, its abundance of gold braid gleaming in the bright sunlight, and straightened it to parade perfection. Hands clasped behind his back, he slowly circled Gregor in full, stern Admiral-on-the-Bridge mode, nodding solemnly in approval. After adjusting Gregor's collar _ever so slightly,_ he sat back down. “Are we forgetting something?” he asked quietly but commandingly, still The Admiral.

      Gregor pondered a second or two. “Oh, yeah,” he chirped brightly in Little Boy mode, thrusting both hands forward, palm down. Aral carefully inspected the offered fingernails, his left eyebrow quirking fractionally.

      “At ease, Vorbarra.” With that, Gregor threw himself into Aral’s arms and was swallowed up in a massive hug. Aral scooped up the laughing boy and set him on his knee. “I can’t tell you enough how very proud of you I am,” he said softly, “for choosing to go school with other children.” That his classmates were all high Vor offspring and the place was nearly as heavily fortified and guarded as the Residence itself was a given. “But never forget, you _can have_ your old tutor back and resume your lessons here if ever you change your mind. At any time, for any reason - no questions asked.”

     “Yes, sir, I know. Thank you, sir.” Gregor snuggled in against Aral’s rock hard, green-clad shoulder (an incongruously comfortable place to be, as she knew from experience), his expression thoughtful. “It’s not so bad, really. Just... different. I’m liking it more and more.”

      “Glad to hear it, son,” Aral said quietly. “I know it does take a bit of getting used to. I remember how scary it was when _I_ went to a real school for the first time after having been taught entirely by my mother during the war. I was just a very little older than you are. As you say, it was… not so bad, really. Just different.”

      Gregor, arm around Aral’s neck, shot him a look of wide-eyed admiration and gratitude for the tacit understanding. The boy hugged him again, and received a light kiss on the forehead, which he returned with a fierce one of his own on Aral’s cheek. Aral and Gregor had developed their own little greeting ritual very soon after they had come to live in the Residence with him following their Piotr-imposed exile from Vorkosigan House and Vorkosigan Surleau. First, there was the very formal regent / emperor / military business, followed by affectionate, playful, father / son style interaction.

      Aral’s innate nurturing instincts were proving to be nothing short of miraculous, in her opinion, especially considering what _he’d_ had as role model. She shuddered at the thought of him as a physically and emotionally wounded child, dealing with the devastating, violent loss of his mother and siblings and having the cold, distant, ever critical Piotr for support. _Fat lot of comfort that had been_ , she fumed to herself, fighting back angry tears. Aral _knew_ on a visceral, highly personal level what Gregor needed, and just how to provide it. She understood that (and said a little prayer of thanks for) because of his own life experience, there were things he was uniquely qualified to do for Gregor that she, despite her maternal instincts and best intentions, would never be able to, or even comprehend. Although Aral deeply missed his homes, the lake house most of all, having him living here in the Residence was probably the best thing that had ever happened to Gregor. _Well, after having the man appointed as his regent in the first place,_ she thought. _Barrayar!_

      Cordelia had been greatly relieved that after a worrisome slow start, Gregor warmed up fairly quickly to Aral. He’d been hesitant at first, which she thought was not at all unexpected considering how seemingly _everyone_ but family and close friends found Aral’s usual intensity intimidating, if not downright terrifying at times. Since she’d been on Barrayar, she’d heard dozens of variations on the rumor that he was able to reduce the entire general staff of hardened military types or the Council of Counts to so much quivering pudding just by entering the room. Another choice one was that he could induce total silence in the Council Chambers with simply a raised eyebrow. Heh! She’d seen him in action - _neither_ was hard to believe! They had both had serious concerns, not sure how Gregor would take to _any_ father figure, especially so soon after the loss of both parents. He had never had much of a male presence or role model aside from the ever-present Vorbarra armsmen and ImpMil guards. Serg had not been there at all for the last year before his death, according to the late Princess Kareen, and Ezar had been far too busy and then much too ill to spend quality time with him. She had once casually mentioned to Aral that Ezar had really been too old for a four year old boy to enjoy spending time with if even he _had_ been willing and/or able to. Aral quietly pointed out to her that that was not necessarily so - he’d always been enormously fond of _his_ grandfather Prince Xav Vorbarra, and dearly loved every minute of the time they’d spent together over the years. She’d reminded him that when _he_ was five years old, his grandfather was considerably younger than Ezar had been when Gregor was that age - that kind of thing made a big difference. Aral conceded the point, but added that maybe it had more to do with the grandfather than his age. She conceded _that_ point.

      In those first few weeks, Gregor had been stiff, shy, and wary with Aral, who had also been a bit hesitant, initially unsure of how best to interact with the boy, whether to be strictly his regent and legal guardian, his foster father, or something in between. Fortunately, he seemed to have an uncanny knack for knowing how much of which was needed and when. She’d been keenly aware of him consciously dimming his usual intensity whenever he interacted with Gregor. He had made a point of spending some quiet, unhurried, one-on-one time with him every day, even if he was only able to squeeze in a few minutes due to his brutally crushing workload that first year. He tried mightily to make his ‘Gregor Time’ as inviolable as his daily ‘lunch hour’ time with Miles came to be, and everyone knew it, from the household staff to his Chief of Staff. Most importantly, Gregor knew it. With Gregor now in school, their time together was limited to either very early or very late in the boy’s day.

      Gradually, as Gregor got used to his presence and relaxed, Aral was able to be much more natural with him and relax as well, to just be himself, and Gregor responded wholeheartedly. She had feared Aral might feel the need to do some sort of ‘penance’ for Serg, but that didn't seem to be the case, thank God, at least not that she could ascertain. Their now frequent and mutual displays of affection certainly _seemed_ genuine to her eyes. Aral, she knew, was deeply affected by it, as well as enormously relieved.

     Gregor removed himself reluctantly from Aral’s knee, bowed formally to him and said, “Thank you, My Lord Regent, for your most excellent help with my science project.”

      Aral, with a seated half-bow and a twinkle in his eye, replied equally formally, “Only too happy to be of service, Sire.”

      Her ears perked up. “Science project? _What_ science project?”

      “On Old Earth animals, Tante Cordelia. The ones the Firsters _didn’t_ bring with them,” Gregor informed her. “You know... all the really _neat_ ones, like lions and polar bears and whales. Oh, yeah - and elephants.”

     “So why didn’t _I_ know anything about a science project?” she asked, giving both of them what she thought of as her most imposing, inquisitorial look.

      “Ah. That, you see,” said Aral, in a perfectly reasonable tone (far more reasonable than anyone had a right to be that early in the morning after just one cup of coffee, as far as she was concerned, but that was Aral for you), “was when Miles was having that awfully rough patch while teething last week.” Miles, as if on cue, gurgled in the affirmative, displaying the teeth in question to back his father up. Beaming at his son while his big hand smoothed the dark fluff on the baby’s tiny head, he winked conspiratorially in Gregor’s direction and continued, “You had more than enough on your plate dealing with that, so Gregor and I decided we’d try to muddle through manfully on our own to allow you to get some well-deserved and much needed rest.”

      The two of them, grinning like idiots, did an energetic, resounding high five.

      “Did you know, my Lady, my Lord Regent knows _everything_ there is to know about elephants?” Gregor said breathlessly while shooting admiring glances at Aral and sounding extremely impressed. _“Everything!”_

      “Elephants, eh?” _Dear God!_ she thought. _What else? Is there no end to his stunningly eclectic grab bag of knowledge? Elephants! Why elephants? Of all things…_

      “Yes, ma’am,” Gregor enthused. “He’s a _expert!”_

      “I believe you mean to say he’s _‘an’_ expert, don’t you sweetie?” she gently chided.

      “Yes, ma’am,” Gregor affirmed. “An real expert!”

      Aral, his face the picture of perfect innocence, just barely choked back a snicker. Tousling Gregor’s hair, he gave him a warm, sunny smile. “Off you go, then, boy. A liege lord must never keep his armsmen waiting.”

      Gregor started off toward the door, and had only gotten halfway when Aral’s expression darkened. “I almost forgot, son. I have a late meeting with the Defense Ministers and probably won’t be home for dinner. I may not even be home in time for us to read that chapter.” His voice and face were apologetic. “I’m very sorry. If I can’t, I promise I’ll make it up to you by reading _two_ chapters next week.”

      When Gregor had given up his tutor, Aral had instituted what had become a weekly ritual - on Wednesday nights after dinner, he’d read aloud a chapter of any book Gregor had chosen. Gregor was, like most Barrayaran boys, enamored of the tales of Vorthalia the Bold. Listening in on occasion, Aral’s dramatic readings, complete with sound effects and different voices for all the characters almost made a fan out of _her_ , too.

      “ _Two_ whole chapters? Yes!” When he saw Aral’s glum expression, he added, “Um… I hope you don’t have to work late, sir, but if you do, I won’t mind much.” His own expression bordered on gleeful. “That means I get to stay up even later next week!”

      As he skipped off, she intercepted the beaming Gregor, planted a kiss on his cheek and quickly smoothed his freshly tousled hair back down. Aral looked bemused. Miles blew sloppy kisses. On his way out the door, Gregor turned back to them and waved, looking for all the world like any other happy, six year old boy.

      Turning to Aral, Cordelia said, “I can’t help but admire the way you’re dealing with Gregor.”

      “It’s no different from the way I’ll deal with Miles when he’s older, dear Captain.”

      Leaning across the table, she took a big, warm hand in hers. “My point exactly, love. I only hope that child realizes some day how just lucky he is Ezar made _you_ his regent.”

      Shrugging it off, he said, “Right now, all that matters is being as good a father to him as possible. I know only too well and deeply regret that I won’t be able to keep it up this way when he gets older. Our relationship will have to change.” He sighed deeply. “Poor Gregor.”

       _Poor Ara_ l, she thought. _It’s going to hurt him more far more than it will hurt Gregor._

***

      With Gregor gone, Aral very carefully extricated the baby from the heavily padded chair and after swooping him around in the air over the table three or four times complete with impressively realistic engine noises, which brought on shrieks of excitement from Miles, interspersed with a case of severe giggles, seated him on his lap and returned to his reading materials. Tentatively sipping her second mug of too hot but sinfully good coffee, she marveled at the way Aral was able to intercept Miles’ eager, grasping hands unerringly, firmly deflecting them in a gentle, non-punitive way. Knowing the enormous strength of those hands, she couldn’t help but be impressed by his control. Miles’ brittle bones were never in any danger in his father’s deft hands. Seemingly oblivious to his son’s all-out assault on absolutely everything on the breakfast table, Aral was simultaneously absorbed in watching an All-Nexus news feed on the comconsole, sifting through mounds of flimsies needing his urgent attention, and absent-mindedly finishing his breakfast - all while homing in on Miles’ quickly roving hands.

      After witnessing a dazzlingly spectacular save on three fronts (the bottle of maple syrup, a jam pot and Aral’s coffee mug somehow remained firmly in an upright position), she asked in stunned amazement, “How the hell do you _do_ that?”

      Aral looked up from his reading matter, his expression puzzled. “Do what?”

      Seeing that he was clueless as to what she meant, she tried to explain it - with gestures. _“All…”_ waving her arms briskly, swooping and waving them randomly over the table, its contents, and Miles, “… _that!_ I assure you, I couldn’t do it! If I tried, I’d not only _not_ stop him from taking out the syrup and jam, I’d more than likely upend the coffee myself in the process.”

      “Ah,” his crinkle-eyed grin lighting up the room even more than the morning sun already was, “that.” He paused, simulating deep thought, furrowing his brow and pensively rubbing his heavy jaw. “Um… really good eye/hand coordination, perhaps?”

      “I was thinking something more along the lines of a missile defense system on incoming mayhem alert,” she snorted. “Why don’t I take Miles off your hands so you can concentrate?”

      “Thanks, but we’re fine, aren’t we, son?” looking down at the boy who replied with an outburst of exceptionally happy-sounding babble. “I don’t mind. He’s not a problem, really.”

      Watching what looked for all the world like a display of precisely planned and meticulously executed manual choreography on his part, she thought that highly unlikely. Grabbing one of the flimsies from the middle of his ‘done’ pile, she shot back, “Oh, yeah, Mister Multi-Tasker? So what _did_ the agriculture minister have to say about the anthrax outbreak in Vorgorov’s District?”

      “Well, for starters, they’re trying to determine the source of the outbreak. At the moment, they’re leaning toward breeding stock imported from the South Continent, where similar outbreaks have been reported several times in the past few years. Regretfully, they’re going to have to quarantine the offending farms until it’s under control.” All that while fending off Miles’ hand from the butter knife with his right elbow, feeding him bits of sweet roll with his left hand, and scrolling down the console screen with his right. “And if I recall correctly, Vorgorov, after vigorous and somewhat rancorous debate, managed to eke out a limited guarantee of concessions for lost income for the affected sheep-raising farmers, the amount to be determined at a later date,” he concluded rather matter-of-factly.

       _And rather annoyingly, at that,_ she thought, and huffed, “Showoff!”

      He blinked slowly at her, with a questioning look. It was glaringly obvious to her now - he genuinely _did not_ comprehend what the problem was. In awe, she concluded the scuttlebutt had to be true - his brain really _did_ work in five dimensions at the same time! She began to understand why he had the effect he did on those he worked with. She felt a sudden burst of sympathy for anyone who was expected to keep up with his apparently effortless mental gymnastics. No doubt, few could. _Poor minions_ …

      “You’re giving me that look again, dear Captain,” he teased.

      She played along, in the same mood. “And what look would that be, sir?”

      Grousing in faux exasperation, “That ‘Vorkosigan really _can_ walk on water’ look.” He sighed wistfully, then was instantly serious. “God, I _hate_ that look. I hate it when I eventually have to shatter people’s expectations.”

      Gazing at him through the steam rising from her mug, she adding yet another item to the lengthy list of Things I Love About Him, and couldn't help teasing a bit in return. “What? Do my ears deceive me? Are you saying you _can’t?_ I’m _shocked!_ _Stunned!_ _Aghast, even!”_

      Picking up her mood, his eyes dancing while grinning wickedly, he said, “Well, I’ve never actually tried it, you understand. Not in its liquid state, anyway, but given the laws of physics… I think we can both agree I’m not quite _that_ good.” Then, after a expertly timed, dramatic pause, _“Yet.”_

      She uncorked an explosive snort. “Oh, I’m not so sure. The jury’s still out on _that_ one.”

      He laughed out loud, rich and rumbly. _Astonishing_ , she thought, _that he seeming finds it amusing._ As if she weren’t less than half in jest! Throughout their conversation, his hands - _they’ve got to be on autopilot,_ she thought - had never stopped intercepting and diverting their son’s furiously busy ones.

      Aral adroitly freed his light pen from Miles’ alarmingly sticky grip, and never one to stand on ceremony, licked it clean before using it. Hearing her chuckle, he glanced at her with a sheepish look before unleashing that devastating, boyish grin. It had pretty much the same effect as it did the first time she saw it, as it always did. Knowing him, she was certain he had no clue as to the effect it had on her, which made it all the more cherished. She poured herself yet another mug of coffee, smiling blissfully, and topped his off as well after planting a lingering kiss on the top of his head. Miles, showing rather admirable coordination for a one year old - OK, so maybe that was just a _wee bit_ prejudiced - made a lightning quick, determined grab for his father’s mug, but Aral neatly maneuvered the steaming beverage out of his reach without losing a drop. Nary a ripple even broke the surface!

      She shook her head in awed, amused disbelief and sat back down across from the two of them, cradling the warm mug in her hands, thinking equally warm thoughts as she sipped - deeply, profoundly content. She could never have imagined before she fled her old life on Beta Colony into Aral’s strong, welcoming arms that such simple things - _just watching her boys at the breakfast table_ \- could be so intensely pleasurable. Domestic tranquility as such had never been on her personal radar during her survey career. But here it was, in what in her previous existence she would have thought the most unlikely of all places, with the most unlikely of all men. For all he was the single most powerful man on three planets, at this very moment, he was simply just another da having a quiet moment with his wife and baby boy. To her mind, it suited him as well as his day job did, if not better. On second thought, _definitely_ better!

      The aroma of the coffee, the dark amber glow of the bottle of maple syrup as the morning sun filtered through it, the sight of her Aral lovingly and delicately wiping Miles’ tiny, fragile hands clean, their dark heads together - all wove a warm, fuzzy cocoon of overwhelming comfort around her. Knowing that it was still Barrayar, after all, where such things could change violently in an instant, made the feeling all the more special. _It just doesn’t get any better than this_ , she mused, savoring - ravenously devouring, actually - every precious second of it, and directed a mental prayer of wholehearted gratitude to the theistic Powers That Be for finding herself so abundantly blessed.


End file.
